Angel Tears
by Karenin-Akbash-07
Summary: Isaac has been trying to understand what happened to his life for years, now. It all seems like a dream and the only constants are God's hatred and mother's holy fury. Even so much as thinking "This hurts" sends him into a terribly scary spiral of self doubt and fills his being with loath and guilt. He's been sinking deeper into the chest every day. Is there any salvation?
1. The Sun

**Hey dudes! Nihil's here : And after a loong break from , I'm back with a new TBoI fic! : 0 Well, kinda. Basically I'm using the same basic concept as the by now really old Locked Away, but reviewing it completely to make it more quality. And have a real plot haha!**

 **Furthermore, I'm gonna be including little art pieces along the way (linked at the end of the fic) to give clues about the next chapter : )c And since it's a new fic, this first releasing will have 5 chapters out at once while I work on more! Neat, uh? I hope ya'll enjoy it!**

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Something like a "meaning". Did that really exist in this world? Isaac wanted to say yes. To say that the "meaning" was God and nothing else. That a simple reason had to exist, that nothing was in vain and there was always a cause to every consequence. But... in days like these, his conviction faltered and although he was aware that God wouldn't forgive something like this, he couldn't help it.

He was laying in the floor of his little room, looking at his own outstretched hand. Why had he called for mom while she was on her way out? Why had he begged her to stay? Of course she wasn't going to patch him up, to calm and comfort him. But somehow, he had forgotten all semblance of rational thought in that moment. He didn't care if she had hurt him. He just wanted some help.

"She didn't come for me"

He thought.

"She didn't because wanting help is greed. And God doesn't like greed."

Because she was a good mother, he had to try and understand her actions. Because bad things happen to sinners and...

He closed his eyes, trying to shake this train of thought away. This wasn't bad. He was a sinner getting divine punishment. Mother... she liked to say it, right? That she was God's personal pawn. Yes, she was right. God was being merciful.

Isaac could suffer here rather than in Hell.

He tried to retract the hand to help sitting up, but it was far too painful. Had he gotten his shoulder out of place? No, that wasn't it. There was just a gash in the shoulder making things difficult. A deep breath. His body was hurting from the beating, especially the places his mother had stomped down on, but he didn't feel anything broken, so he was going to be okay if got to his bed soon.

He should probably wash the wounds in the bathroom instead instead of going to rest right away, but with his mother walking around outside, it'd be too risky. At least his blankets were kind of clean, so wiping blood and dirt from around cuts was possible. Better than nothing.

He moved his head and his eyes stopped at a drawing, a paper he had put in the wall. A little scrawl of a child, but it was almost like he was there, flesh and bones, sighing softly. Isaac could tell what the kid would do in his place.

"Can't go on like this...either I stop this martyr act or I'll be mash potatoes"

It made sense, right? That someone like Cain would joke about it.

"Staying down won't help, I need to wipe the blood off before cockroaches start crawling by"

A deep breath and painfully, Cain retracted his arm and stood up, closing his eyes to avoid crying out of pain. The world was spinning madly, and he knew he must have lost a good amount of blood during the time he had stayed down. Ugh, why had he even taken so long to do what he had to?

One step towards the blanket and it occurred him. Because he was just Isaac and couldn't have the same tolerance to pain that Cain had in the drawings.

Suddenly, it was a thousand times more painful to walk, but he had to do it. A few more steps... and he collapsed over his bed, crying.

"But I need to take care of these cuts"

She thought amidst her sobs. Oh, how she wanted the Yum Heart to be a real thing right now! The warm healing she'd make up for herself in the paper! With no other choice, she sat up and slowly cleaned herself up the best she could before leaning against the wall. It still burn, and infection risk was high if Mom didn't go to watch TV soon so as to free the way to the bathroom.

Magdalene blinked, and she was Isaac.

The kid gulped. Had that been right? Was this what Maggy would do? He tried not to think too hard about it, since Mom kept warning him that thinking too much about how it'd be like to be a girl would make his pee-pee fall off.

Eden smiled, as if finding that amusing. "How it would be like"? That wasn't right. Isaac was a girl too, and a boy. And nothing. And everything was changing all the time. They didn't have to worry about... The smile faded. But what if it DID fall off? Isaac didn't want to know.

Maybe he would just get some paper and play the Game while he waited for his mother to leave... it did sound like a good idea, but the prospect of having to get up again wasn't exactly inviting. With no will to actually do anything, he let himself lay down and try to sleep. Maybe this was sloth... he'd have to be sure to fight him in the next playthrough so as to cleanse some of the Sin off.

"Not like it will raise my chance to go to Heaven..." Judas mumbled before closing his eyes.

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The woman sat down on the couch, looking for the TV's control. Oh, Lord, how had she even allowed herself to birth such an unclean and ungrateful child? She should have been smarter in her decisions... should have gotten rid of Isaac rather than allowing her dearest husband to leave.

He had warned her... "If you keep indulging his sin, he will just become a devil spawn queer". Why hadn't she listened? Why was it that Isaac's smile when he could wear wigs and dresses made her hesitant?

She had been weak, and this was punishment.

A button press, and the television chirred before forming the images of a live broadcast. Loud voices, songs, orders, latin chants... This was her favourite channel. It was all so mysterious, so intrincate and nonsensical... something you were supposed to bask in instead of understanding.

"Like you, my Lord."

She muttered, and started to pray.

Oh, free us from sin. Destroy the Devil and let us not fall into his traps. Deliver us from temptation and punish us for our faults so we may one day join in in Heaven. Nothing in this material live is real, nothing is satisfying, but as long as we believe in you, oh Lord, nothing can hurt us either.

Not the devil, and not vaccines. Not diseases, and not the souless race. Not the queer and not the heretic. Not the pagans and not the taxes. Not the fire and not the deluge. Not video games and not war. Not famine and not the government. Not sin and not even death.

"Hallellujah!" She exclaimed along with the TV's crowd.

For the sake of justice... for the sake of God's will... she never once felt something like regret for the things she had done. It was all for Isaac's own sake, even if he didn't know. Maybe other parents wouldn't understand her for beating him so brutally, for killing all his pets in front of him, for locking him up and getting him out of school, for so, so much... And even those who understood and cheered on her would never have the courage to follow her holiest path...

But she was the merciful one here.

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 _...There was... something wrong._

 _That woman, she had lost her husband and her child, but it seemed she had also lost herself along the way. She always looked out the window and stared down the hill her house had been built on top of. Her expression always terrifying._

 _It burned into one's very soul, a mystery and a threath._

 _Most people respected her and her losses very much, especially with how much of a devout these experiences had made of her. I could never really... understand. The way those old women spoke, it was as thought her disgrace just made them happy. As if her pain was the pass into some secret club._

 _Maybe they are right, honestly. There is definetively something I don't understand about these people. Then again, I was never someone religious myself._

 _At thirty two years of age, people in town were starting to pester me about my personal life and pressuring me to leave my career and go find a man to marry. I know that the majority of the people in this town are ultra conservative grannies and their not-so-conservative children, but it can really get annoying sometimes..._

 _It is not that I don't want to find someone to love. It just hasn't happened, and I honestly don't mind it never happening. I am pretty happy working as a police officer and since this place doesn't have a single big case in years, it is a very convenient place to live._

 _No, I am getting sidetracked. Thing is, that house hasn't been right for a while. That woman buys animal food even if she has no pets and one of the windows has been closed forever, with bars in them. The most disturbing thought... I have been hearing people that claim they can hear the wails of her dead child sometimes when they walk by, and all of them unvariably describe the noise as coming from behind the barred window._

 _This worries me. I feel like soon, I will need to talk to my boss about investigating this._

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"This is what is called a Dream"

That thing said, sounding bored. The bright eyes it had stared blankly ahead, into the dusty field, and Isaac gulped. He was sitting down in the grass, trying to stay calm.

"...What is it that you've got to do?"

The kid looked up, trying to get a peek of Heaven, to no avail. The sky was nothing but grey clouds and dust, impossible to understand, uninviting and uncaring.

Isaac sighed, eventually getting up. That thing chuckled.

"It's strange, isn't it?"

Enigmatic, like a sphinx. The kid had to walk away, but his legs felt numb and slow. Like he was tripping and lagging at the same time. The sand was slowing him down brutally, covering his feet and his body.

A choir started to sing as rain suddenly poured down, acid, and turning the ground into mud. It stung, it stung so bad! It hurt and he couldn't move, immobilized in quicksand. That thing crumbled away into a thousand strings of fabric.

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Isaac was awoken by a sharp sting of pain from a cut. From the lack of light coming from outside, he could tell it was night and his mother had gone to sleep and thus, it was safe to take a bath. Just now did he realize how dry his mouth was too. He mindlessly tried to lick his lips so as to avoid cracking and bleeding, especially around that one gap in the tissue.

"Monstro. Monster. Evil."

He shook his head and sat up already.

Fast feet touched the floor and he opened the door with the sharp movement he knew made the last noise. Like a ghost, he thought. Like a ghost that will be blown away by the wind at the slightest breeze.

He let the back of the door connect with the holder that'd prevent it from slamming shut and hurried to the bathroom, closing, but not locking the door as a safety measure. Who knew what'd happen if Mom awoke and found out he had dared lock a door without permission...

He used the toilet first and wiped himself, knowing he could get properly cleaned with the water fow. A useful order of doing things that made things simpler.

Cold water. Cold water for warmth was for the blessed. "And God cares not about me" Judas thought, shivering. "And I am not tall enough to reach the temperature changer". At least he could wash his wounds properly and drink something. It hurt, but would stop the stinging later on. No need for shampoo, as his head was as bald as could be. Ah, how Isaac would adore to have hair like Maggy's or Eve's...

No matter. The bath was soon over and he dried himsef with the only towel in the bathroom before sneaking back into the bedroom, only daring lowering his guard when he was safely tucked in his bed.

Maybe he'd be allowed another dream... any kind of pleasant way to skip time. But skip to when? To morning? And what could the sun give?

...Ah, it was the same as with the game, wasn't it. "May the light heal and enlighten you". A card of hope, a new attempt. Something to flip the tables. Something to change fate, even at half a heart and lost. Even when every odd against you... a new day.

"Stupid" Eve muttered under her breath. "You can't use a card outside the Game."

What would morning bring? Another day alone in this room? Another beating? More of being called an evil monster? More hurting for believing that? This wasn't something that'd be changed by a single turn of the world. Mother was a constant. Mother was eveywhere, her voice forever echoing, her presence always close.

But... he could never blame her could he?

"It's just my fault."

-0-0-0-0

sta . sh /011zswm8l2i3


	2. Cleft

Pencil scratching the rough surface of paper, creating vague shapes. A person. An organ. A demon. An angel. An object. Intrincate mixes of all those, with movement indicated by lines over the page.

"I can do it. In the face of evil, I can do it. I can be pure."

Samson was dragging a chain. A halo over his head, shared with a baby, a blood stained mouth. With a Yum Heart picked up, he recklessly threw himself at enemies.

"The more you hurt me, the less I need to hurt myself. The more I accept it, the more will Heaven accept me. My nature is rage, undying deadly rage, self directed and deserved"

The child was murmuring to himself, barely noticing it. Samson didn't fear his punishment and that made him feel braver, as if he could stand anything if it meant God would be happy. As if he could finally drown the illusion of "being in pain" and similar lies. His memories of the world were blurry and untrustworthy, but not those of the game.

Ah, he truly regretted having thought those kinds of thoughts yesterday before falling asleep... in the haze of sleepiness, the devil must have poured poison into his brain, hoping to drag him closer to hell and away from his divine punishment. No, no, from the divine blessing that his life was.

"This is happiness."

This morning, Isaac had comitted the error of mentioning the beating he'd gotten as a reason his shoulder was hurting. It was something he should have avoided... after all, she just denied it all, and told Isaac of how it actually went. Of how he was hurting her by distorting facts like this. Of how much of an oversensitive liar he was. Of Hell's place for liars and traitors.

Now he'd lost yet another memory. Another period of time around which his mind would be blurry. Another reason to think Satan was playing games with his brain to drive him mad. But...

"You can always be the reason."

Judas gulped, pausing the game to exist. Of course he knew that he was a traitor and a liar. Of course he knew he couldn't trust his own memories or perceptions. It was obvious, after all... what always had him thinking, thought, was the possibility...

Maybe he was really just doing it to hurt Mother.

Isaac made a little strangled noise, mortified, but the sudden stream of thoughts couldn't be stopped now.

 _You want to make yourself seem like a saint, you want to make me out to be a witch but you are lying. You want to hurt me, and you hate me. You are evil... you don't care about me, you don't love me... I'm tired. I'm tired of you hurting me and stealing my happiness. I don't love you anymore, because you don't deserve it. God hates you, and you are beyond salvation. You are dirty, and your intents are dark. I won't stand this, I deserve better than this. You should have died in the womb._

And Samson had to agree, even if that hurt him more than any other enemy.

...hurt? No, no, no! No, she wasn't hurting! Lilith hissed at herself, knowing fully well that this was mercy. This was happiness, this was... had he changed characters again?

He resumed the run. This would just get worse, so it was better to try and think like Samson, after all. Collecting items, defeating monsters, navigating maps. To destroy Mom, and then yourself in the womb for having ever thought of killing her. Not enough, so destroy yourself now and even your corpse... to get into the chest and finish the run.

Isaac sighed and put the papers aside before lying down. Once again, this was nothing but a waste of time... meaningless and perverse. The worst.

He looked at the closed window.

Outside, he could hear the sound of rain.

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 _I looked at the little notebook and smiled. It was an old diary of mine, from when I was a silly kid who would die to get to join a soup opera on TV and wanted a dog more than anything else combined. My parents, sentimental as always, had mailed this to me along with some other childhood trinkets "in hopes you never let your bright eyed innocence get dwarfed by this world's tragedies". Being honest, I quite liked that sudden present. Keeping fond memories around is important, after all._

 _My fingers ran along the back of the cover, where I had written my name in orange pen and glitter, along with a warning to possible peekers. "~Lynne~ If you aren't me, find this and try to read I'll rip your eyes out and feed them to vampires." Looking back on it, it didn't sound anywhere as scary as I had thought it was._

 _I'd written so many things... crushes, dreams, aspirations, complaints... and at the time, all of those seemed so important! What happened to all those things? Time had blown them away like leaves. Not that I mourn them, of course. I found other dreams, and achieved some. My own house. A job. A personal library. I'd like to say I'm happier than most people I know, including those sweet, but nosy ladies at the church._

 _I put the diary to a side and looked out the window. The rain didn't look like it was going to dwindle anytime soon, but that was fine. The cold wheater it brings is relaxing and inviting, especially under warm blankets or with a cup of hot chocolate._

 _I let out a yawn. Maybe this was a good time for a nap... untying my brown hair from the ponytail I had it in, I rested my head against the back of the fluffy couch and fixed the blankets to cover my entire body instead of just my legs._

 _A single word popped in my mind before it all slipped away into a pleasant dream: Paradise._

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"Dude, come on... it's fucking raining."

"That's the best time! Like, the owner isn't gonna come out in this shower so we can set up our equipment just right!"

Dean sighed and shook his head. "C'mon Julius... we never caught anything. I'm not gonna go out and get a cold just to find out there's no ghost again..."

The other smirked, confident.

"This time it's different, I swea-"

"You always say that, dude!"

"No, no. Look! This town is like, totally holy. Everyone's got a spare crucifix to offer you if you aren't wearing one! So you know what that means?"

"...That any stray evil spirit would have already been cleansed?"

Julius burst out laughing, so much actually that he wound up with a single blond hair in his mouth and had a fit of coughing. Dean simply rolled his eyes.

"No, no- coff- no, it means that -coff- we got like, mediums, psychics and shit all over! And they are free! Like, they'll do anything if you can be some company and listen to them ramble about their grandchildren for an afternoon!"

"That sounds way too heartless, man. Did you really do that?"

"Yeah, yeah... but I swear I'll credit the granny that checked the house with me!"

Dean frowned. Now, if a real psychic had spoken, this would give their claims more substance... and more of a chance of being taken seriously in the ghost-busting community.

"I'm listening."

"Sweet! So, yesterday when we went to check, she said she could sense like, a demon or something. Something huge! She said that the demon's been tormenting the house owner since her child died and that the bars on a window were blessed, so the demon wouldn't escape!"

Julius was boiling with excitement, and now Dean understood just why he was so eager. If this was really true, then they were in for both some money and a chance to actually help people.

"So...the house owner's been containing a demon on her own... sounds though. I'm sure that if we can prove the presence and exorcise it then we'll be doing a great service for this community..."

"Are you in?"

Dean smiled. "Yeah, man! Get the stuff on the trunk!"

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The broadcast had been lovely today. It was a special from a closed channel entitled "Queer Threat: The only real Holocaust" which had her in tears by the end. Oh, oh! To know she was helping contain it by showing her Isaac the way to redemption! To know that she wasn't quite alone in her devotion! She mourned, thought, at how afraid other parents were. They'd disown their children or only go to little extents in absolving them. She felt like reaching out to them and saying:

"Fear not, for God is on our side! If you do not put your children in Heaven's path, who else will? If you are afraid of hurting them now, then they'll suffer forever! Destroy them, if necessary, but destroy their sin! Hallellujah!"

Ah, how her husband would have been proud!

But, her mood quickly dropped when she changed the channel.

Something about "Cleft lips and new surgery methods that minimize complication risks and scarring". She knew nothing of that, and the very length of the words said was proof of their evil... but what struck her was how they dared show children like this on TV, where children could see it... the mark. As stated on a documentary once, so long ago...

The mark of the demon. The mark of the demon. The mark of the demon.

God was speaking, loudly, clearly, now. From the bible and from herself. He was pointing to the opening in Isaac's lip, the entrance of evil, the temptation of letting the devil's doctors "fixing it". It was a mark of horror and a reminder of a snake's split tongue.

She had to close it.

She had to fix it. The holy way.

Suddenly, she stood up and turned off the TV, rushing to the kitchen. She had the tools. The blessed tools. Some butter knives were taken from the drawer and placed over hot stove fire, and she got her sewing kit too, licking every needle in there to mark them as blessed by one of Jesus' loyal lambs.

This was mercy, this was love, this was everything Isaac never deserved and the best he could get. And she called for him when the knife started to glow, her voice ressonating through the house.

She felt nothing but divine fury when he appeared on the doorway, muttering a "yes, mother?" with that defective mouth. The devil, the devil in disguise. She gesture for him to approach, and so he did. He was scared, it seemed, a coward.

She gloved her hand and picked the knife up. Even like this it was scalding and she quietly devoted her pain to God.

"Open your mouth wide."

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Julius finished setting up a little tarp just outside the accursed window and gestured for Dean to bring over the equipment. The other rushed, but bringing one thing at a time to get nothing wet. The two worked for around half an hour, setting up complicated paraphernalia.

Their main equipment was as follows:

Two cameras. One normal with integrated night vision and the other, a thermic one.

A little mechanism which according to the seller on e-bay was capable of picking up disturbances in the magnetic field. It was actually neat and worked reacting to magnets, but required an incredibly complex mess of cables to be connected around.

A recorder.

Two laptops.

Another e-bay purchase, this one described as a "spirit translator". Something to translate energy fluctuations and white noise variations into english. Well, kinda. It was actually translated to Korean, but they could upload the output to google translate.

An exorcism kit, designed by them. Basically all the spare crosses from the town's people, Julian's own cross, two bibles, some holy water and salt.

They had just turned on the cameras and the the recorder to monitor the area when the worst possible thing to capture began.

Isaac's mind became nothing but a blank the moment the scalding knife touched the sensitive flesh between his mouth and nose. He understood nothing, he thought nothing. Everything was painful and everything was a blur.

He just screamed, louder than ever.

At times, she'd change a cooling knife for a hotter one, driving it everywhere. At some point, she seemed to realize that there was not enough loose skin to actually close the opening and thus, she got a normal knife.

The sharp blade but open his gum, exposed his nerves and teeth and then a glowing one would burn pieces of flesh together. At times, Isaac retched and vomit came out, but the way his head was being angled up, he just gagged on it and eventually swallowed it back.

She worked, and Isaac screamed. Joining the palate, the lips, the skin. Again, the knife worked, now tearing apart the nose's inside and then the result was burned back together. After she was done, she took thread and needle and sew around the entire area, awkwardly, haphazardly.

When she said "Go back to your room", Isaac couldn't process or obey. His ears were full of a loud beep, noise, static. His head pounded, everything hurt, his heart raced and his eyes saw nothing but a blank infinity.

He only got moving when she shoved the burning knife into his back.

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Julian and Dean were trembling by the time the screaming quieted. They actually hugged each other tight, not daring move a single inch. The noise they had just captured... it was something they'd never heard. No jumbled vague threat, no indiscernible noise, no vaguely human gasp, no half translated engrish jumble.

These screams were nothing but pure concentrated pain, so animalistic and raw that it was barely human. The fear, despair, horror it instilled... it was impossible to describe. But the worst, Julian could only whisper out time later, when they finally gathered the courage to pick up their things and speed out as fast as possible.

"T-that... t-that was a r-real voice... t-that was... no de-demon..."

Dean shuddered, only not closing his eyes and stopping th car to cry because he wanted to get as far away as possible. To just erase things properly, sell the equipment, announce a break from ghost-busting. Forget. But...

"W-we need to tell s-someone, Dean."

He could not make himself reply.

-0-0-0

sta . sh /02dz3w26ncl0


	3. Bloom

Isaac was looking at the ceiling of his room. Or should have been, but the pain made his vision blurred and with white dots dashing around. "Maybe these are angels... maybe they are welcoming me into heaven, now that mom's fixed my mouth. Maybe I'm dying."

But that couldn't be true, could it? It wasn't enough, simply put. It wasn't enough to make up for his sins. The angels weren't here to comfort him and welcome him into their holiest home... they were laughing at him and mocking his unjustified sadness.

Tears overflowed out, hitting the floor with little pitter-patter. How pathetic, how useless, how horrible, how cowardly! What he felt and what he should be feeling clashed with unpleasant clangs and even thought he eventually dismissed "what I feel" as lies, he could never make himself feel quite like he was supped to!

"I was born wrong. I was born wrong. In every aspect, in every way, it's always wrong" he thought. He wished he had the strength to pretend to be someone eles. Lazarus would have been calming, or the Keeper. But above all, the Blue Baby. He would have pretended to die. Would have crawled into the chest to stay there for the night, hoping to suffocate. But he couldn't. His mind was simply too filled with the Now to be able to flee from himself.

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Julius stared blankly at the ceiling of the hotel room he was sharing with Dean. His mind was racing with thoughts and implications of what they had managed to catch on tape.

There was someone very real there, someone screaming it's heart out. And that certainly wasn't the voice of the house owner... no, it had been a child. A child. A child. No, no... this hadn't been in the plans. It was supposed to be like always! Well, not quite... ugh he didn't know. He had wanted to help someone get rid of a demon, not this.

"Dean... can you... tell me about that house again?" He murmured.

The other, who had been pacing around the room to calm his nerves, gulped.

"The... house owner is some woman called Lorraine. Lorraine Richards." He started, sounding disturbed. " Well, actually Lorraine Peterson. Richards is the surname of her former husband. I don't remember his name. Um, they had a child... Isaac Richards."

Julius closed his eyes.

"The father left her some years ago. According to the lady who told me the story, it was because the child was... evil or something... and the mother didn't want to act on it. Afterwards it seems she converted and became really passionate about her faith... and... well, I-isaac went missing. Presumed dead. N-never was a corpse found."

A pause. They didn't dare say the words they wanted to, and knew the other wouldn't either. These words floated in the air, filling the atmosphere with static and fear. It was as thought they were about to joina cult or something. Once they said it they could not ever back away and would need to get involved... but...

The reason they had even started this thing. To help those in need.

They couldn't possibly just leave.

So Julius asked.

"How old... is he?"

"The... lady said he went missing at age four. But that was three years ago."

It sank into them like a rock. Three years... that child was just seven. That horrifying amalgamate of pain had come from the throat of a seven year old and what was worse: others had been hearing similar too, right? So... so three years of the kind of thing that could create it.

Dean punched a wall, frustrated.

"Ugh! I can't get involved, Jules! I c-cant! The police would come, interrogate me, call my parents! They'll be mad as hell I'm here instead of over at aunt Gracie's! I-i'll get busted over...t-that...and you too. W-we'll be ruined. Going to jail or something. You'll need to leave that uni, I'll lose my job... I'm sorry... I c-can't!"

Julius didn't reply. His heart felt like it was gonna get ripped in two.

00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00

 _Julius' grandfather had certainly been a wicked man. People who had known him since forever probably didn't want to acknowledge it, but since his wife had died he had changed completely. It was the kind of radical change for worse that people tend to ignore for as long as possible. They get attached to the memory of a kind person and blind themselves to the growing demon..._

 _Sincerely, the man couldn't care less about how others saw the elderly tyrant. He had never gotten to know him when he was a kind man... just seem the monster that was a babysitter for him while his parents were away on their countless travels._

 _He did not like to talk about the things that went on. Since he was a child, no one would believe him anyway. Not his parents, not the school. And that devil was always sure to do things that didn't leave marks. Or at least just in places no one but other monsters would have any business looking and checking. Haha. Hah... it didn't help when it stretched over to his teenage years, either._

 _Before he knew, he'd become a depressed mess that'd get into trouble by running from home and getting dragged back by well meaning, but ignorant policemen. Even if his grades were bright, he was still known as the class' troublemaker. He'd stopped trying to tell anyone about his plight._

 _Until he met Dean._

 _He was such a carefree soul... a chill guy who believed in ghosts and aliens and wanted to work to sustain a paranormal search job. He never judged Julius, he never pushed him to tell what was wrong, never tried to stop him._

 _But he was caring. He'd open the door when he knocked three AM needing a place to cry. He'd listen to his senseless rambles about the world. He'd protect him from the bullies he eventually had to face. He was like a guardian angel, somehow._

 _Julius always tried his best to be the best companion possible. To return every kindness and understanding with double the strength. To share Dean's never ending optimism even in the face of despair._

 _And then, it happened._

 _It was one night, and Julius barely remembered it now... ole grandpa was at him again, and Dean somehow walked in. According to him, he'd had a bad presentment that day and just came in to check._

 _There was screaming. A lot of screaming._

 _And next thing they knew, they were frantically dragging the old man's corpse and cleaning up the house to make it seem like he'd fallen from the stairs rather than having had his head smashed by a heavy object._

 _They both cried like scared children that day._

 _The police somehow fell for their scene disgusting. He was an old man after all, and they didn't know of any reason why two teenagers would kill him. He had no fortune, he had no secrets. As far as they knew, it had been an accident._

 _Julius and Dean had sworn to each other to never again get involved with police cases, thought. They knew they'd never again be able to lie about that day. Even when Dean eventually started living his dream, even when Julius entered a big university to study history as he'd always wanted, even when they were travelling together, that man's corpse would haunt them._

 _One day they'd know how to exorcize the shit out of his soul and send him to hell one more time._

 _Now... now... now there was some kid going through hell. A hell akin to the one he'd been through. And they had the possibility of helping him. Of making his life easier. But they were scared of it, of what it could mean. Dean was hesitating the most, of course. He'd been the one to kill the man after all... Julius couldn't forsake him. But..._

 _Ah, he was going to do something mad wasn't he?_

"Let's leave tomorrow" He muttered. Dean nodded.

 _I'm so sorry. So so sorry._

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The child woke up to the smell of food. A numb pain and heat was over his face, but it was no longer so overwhelming. He sat up and turned to face his mother. She was smiling. She was smiling at him and in that minute he found out he could forgive her for this too. No, no! He had nothing to forgive! She'd just saved his soul again, right? She had just...

Her smile melted into a frown.

"God is not yet pleased, Isaac. Do not look so prideful. Your struggling was unforgivable... imagine if you had woken up a napping neighbor?"

They nad no neighbors, but the words still struck Isaac deeply.

"You blotched your own salvation once again. The devil is still at work... I'm being merciful by bringing you this food. The Lord is sparing you for now... but he warns you that he still hates you for being this appalling. The fact you were born with an evil mark still stands."

He looked down in shame, feeling his eyes well up with tears. He'd been an idiot. Why had he been screaming?! Why was he lying to himself this much? This was happiness, happiness and mercy. He didn't know pain. That hadn't been pain. He was the devil in disguise, and all that noise had just been to annoy mother. To hurt her. To hurt her.

"F-fohgifh m-me" He said. The noise was distorted and it hurt to move his lips.

She yelled, horrified. Isaac realized that he was indeed sounding just like a demon. Had his failure made him more evil? Had is all backfired? How? How? Mother had done her best, hadn't her? So why...

She yanked him up by the arm, making him stand.

"PRAY!"

He was paralyzed in terror.

"PRAY! Oh, Lord! His Tongue is tainted! Isaac, please, pray. Oh, if it heals your wounds then you've been absolved! But if you feel it burn and hurt, then your tongue was claimed by the devil!"

Panic washed through the child.

"Oh Fathefh who aft in Heav-"

She slapped him. "Talk like a human"

"Hallo-hallowed be t-thy name..."

"Thy k-" He stopped, the sharp k noise burned madly in his mouth.

"-ingdom c-ome, thy will be done..."

He was crying horribly now. It hurt and burned. It hurt and burned.

"On Earth as it is in H-heaven...

May thy will be done...m-mom... I ssan't do iff. Huwts. So b-badly. S-so..."

She let go of him and stormed off, horrified.

Tears poured like a storm, matching the rising tunes outside. She was going to cut off his tongue. She was going to cut off his togue. She was going to cut off his tongue. Judas stumbled, trying to find the bed to lay down in, but eventually he just sat down. Azazel knew it, he was beyond salvation. Lilith curled up, understanding that nothing could save her, as God would never help her. Because Isaac was all these terrible things and people, it was hopeless.

He didn't touch the bowl of food, vaguely hoping he'd end up starving to death before mother would be done doing her prayers to confirm the decision.

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"What kind of dream is this?" The Lost asked, voice just above a whisper. The girl by his side didn't reply. The world was alive, as in... it looked terribly organic. The concrete pulsated and the windows dilated and contracted, sending waste through the sewers and making the asphalt move in an indistinct rippling. This rippling moved cars, which vibrated strangely, as if alive, and excreted a slimy liquid through their open windows.

Fountains bled a transparent blood, being absorbed promptly by the ground. Statues liberated hormones into the world's stream, and everything was beating to some unseen heart. A squishy city of gore.

"I think it's fine like this" The girl muttered, looking down. "Do you think I'll be made out of the city if I open myself up?"

The Lost couldn't reply. A breeze made his image waver, threatening to fade. She laughed, and put he hands in her mouth, holding the jaws apart... and then, there was a crushing noise. Her bones were breaking, and it was as thought she was removing a hood or something as her skin was torn. The mandible was dragged down, and her tongue was hanging, her throat exposed. The cranium did similarly by dragging the spine out. Her organs was now apparent, spilling out, out, and she only stopped when her arms could no longer reach further. Her legs were trembling. She'd shat herself, and now most of her was simply hanging down, resting on the floor and only attached to her hips.

The blood, the red horrible blood, it spread. It spread and tainted the world. The organic city reshaped itself into her, and the spirit couldn't help but to stare. The world was the entrails of a stranger, and even the clouds and sky were more and more flesh and fat. It was alive. And it would destroy the soul if it touched him.

So he sped away, even if there was nowhere to go. The Womb, the world. The Fool. The noises, wet and rhythmic, followed everywhere, no matter how fast he tried to go...

And then, there was the heart.

A white house. A dead house. And The Lost entered. It was empty, but filled with smiling statues depicting creatures that didn't make any sense in a 3D space. Dead. Dead. All dead. All white. All cold.

And at the center, Isaac. Impaled by a huge needle. He didn't bleed, but his corpse was surrounded by the same living tissue as outside, and it was slowly spreading to take over the house and fill it with the horror of outside.

But...

The Lost suddenly understood that it was better like this. That the cold rooms had to be filled with the gore and the warmth. That he'd die over and over if it meant there was life happening. If it meant... if it meant...

"That you won't need to be alone?"

The corpse of the girl, and now a huge flower was planted over and sprouting from her hips.

"...Bloom" the soul muttered. "You are just another Isaac, right?"

She smiled kindly. "So are you."

"I don't mind dying. I'm already lost. It's over. You are the corpse. The question mark. And Isaac is there. So since you are both dead, I am in no place to wish otherwise. So...we need to bloom all over this wreckage."

She tilted her flowery head and nodded after a while, walking up to the child and becoming part of the Needle. The Lost followed suit, fading into nothing but a vague glow.

The sensation of suddenly opening one's eyes. And the entire world covered in white flowers, breathing out the city's blessing as they one again revealed everything as it simply was.

Isaac wouldn't remember this dream when he'd finally wake up.

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sta . sh /01ct61lp4i26


	4. Dying

"Are you sure?"

Dean was carrying the two bags they'd brought over for the supposedly week long stay. Julius just smiled, sheepish.

"Yeah, bro. Just head over to the airport, I'll get my laptop back. I'll probably miss my seat too... but don't worry. Call me before you board if you're worried I might be late"

It wasn't a total lie, the laptop was indeed in back at the hotel, lying in the wardrobe along with his wallet. Of course he'd be late for the flight, but he didn't want Dean to be around when shit went down. He'd left a note on the inside of one of the bags explaining his plan and all he could do now was to hope Dean would have no choice but to follow it.

He was so honest, so bright, so kind... he'd never let Julius take this risk willingly. But the other could never let the only person who'd always been by his side be in danger either. It was madness, it was stupid, but he had to do it or he'd never be able to put his memories to rest.

"Alright, dude. See ya."

Although the blonde was smiling, he looked worried. Julius gave a thumbs up before getting back into the taxi and closing the door. Even when he directed the driver to go back to the hotel, even when they were speeding away from the airport, Julius could feel his friend's gaze burn through his very heart.

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Isaac gagged and started coughing violently.

Attempting to eat the dog food without chewing had been a huge mistake. Even if trying to bite made him feel like his face had been set on fire (again), this was much worse. There was blood flying with his spit and he knew some stitch had broken in his palate.

He curled up and pressed his forehead against the ground, contracting every muscle to try and stop the coughing from making the situation worse. It barely worked, and he only stopped when the piece of food was in the ground instead of in his respiratory tract.

Eve felt a pang of anger at this situation, even if she was very well aware that she had no right to be angry at it. Divine punishment. Augh, enough. She picked the food from the ground and put it in her mouth, swallowing the right way now.

It was so strange... The Keeper almost fely angry that he'd have something taken away from his very body soon. He knew this was just greed speaking, but couldn't help it, evil as he had always been. This bowl of dog food... wasn't this going to be his last meal as a speaking person? He felt a pressure in his chest, like he was about to start crying again.

Cain shook his head and set to eating the food as fast as he could to avoid more stitches from breaking. He'd play the game. He'd play the game.

He'd play the game because he felt there was something wrong in his reasoning. It didn't feel like just another day in which he'd lose something, for sure, there was something bigger, right? But his mind was full of worry and he'd need to play more.

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Julius opened the wardrobe's door. As he'd planned, there was a backpack in the corner and checking inside it, there was the laptop. He'd uploaded all the sound files into it last night, while Dean was sleeping and now he could only hope it'd be enough proof to show an officer.

He hurried out, quickly thanking the receptionist on his way out before getting back into the taxi.

"Thanks for waiting. Next spot is the police station, please" he said. The driver raised an eyebrow, but head to it anyway. A paying client is a paying client, anyway.

On the way, the man hugged the bag closely, as thought his life depended on it. He looked terribly nervous, legs shaking up and down, sweat rolling down his forehead., breath coming out in short spurts... even the neat braids in which he usually kept his hair were messy.

At some point, Dean called, asking if he was alright. Julius only barely managed to convince the other that he was further along the line, and kept talking until his friend had to turn off the phone. A few minutes later, he also turned off his own. He couldn't have Dean trying to call and finding out he was still responsive and thus, not in the plane.

He almost forgot to pay the driver when he arrived at his destination, such was the state in which he found himself. The tension of having lied of his best friend and the entire situation he was about to get himself into was getting to him.

He rushed inside, looking around for anyone that'd be able to help him. The place was very simple, very small and the only worker in sight was the attendant. He approached.

"H-hello. I-i'd like to t-talk to an officer..."

The attendant frowned. This guy wasn't from around town, she could see. They didn't have a single black guy listed as a denizen ... and he kind of looked like a criminal, too... well, those were kind of the same, right? She chuckled internally, thinking of how old Dorothy from Fisher St. would like to hear this...

Julius slammed his palm on the table. "Hello?! Are you l-listening? T-this is seriou-"

She was startled. What a violent guy! She picked up her phone and dialed the bosse's number. The man almost looked relieved at this, but his expression turned into pure shock when she started to talk.

"Hello, Mr. Anderson? Yes, it's me. There's a violent black man in here threatning me... yes, please. Yes, I think he's probably carrying a gun. In a backpack. Thanks. Hurry."

She stared at him coldly as the phone was lowered.

"W-what the hell?! No! I'm not armed!" Julius screeched. "I a-am here to denounce a c-crime!"

"Mister, you have no idea how suspect you sound. If there's any crime going on is your presence in this stabelishment."

"You are crazy... l-let me talk to your boss!" He was starting to get extremely annoyed.

A door opened.

"Do you mean me, kid?"

The sheriff. A stout man on his 50's, slightly overeight but with an expression that emanated austerity and correctness. Julius straightned himself.

"Y-yes! Um, I'd like to denounce a stance of child abuse from the part of miss..." he paused. What was the name? "Uh, Lorraine Richards."

The two people in the room looked first surprised... and then extremely annoyed. The Sheriff spoke in a heavy voice.

"I am afraid you are a bit late, kid. The child in question is very much dead and we would not like to worsen Ms. Peterson's grief by bothering her with a teen's delusions. Now, if you would be so kind, hand me the bag. Miss Paker here expressed a serious concern that you might be carrying a gun. Enough to call my office and make me walk down this flight of stairs."

Julius felt out of air, shaking his head and clutching the bag. He couldn't have it taken. It was holding the only proof he had.

"Perhaps he's under the effects of hallucinogens, sir. I've heard his kind is very likely to..."

"I appreciate your input, Miss Parker, but as much as he seems like a troublemaker I would not like to have my office biased by your incredibly racist remarks, regardless of what our dearest neighbors think about it."

She shut up. Whatever, the Sheriff was better at handling this anyway. He was a harsh person towards pretty much everyone, and his judgement was undoubtable.

"Now, mister, the bag."

Julius broke down crying.

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Isaac's asphyxiated corpse ran through the hallways formed by rocks in the huge room, crying at disembodied heads which spat blood from time to time.

Isaac's asphyxiated corpse danced with the eyeless children in a tiny room, dodging them around vases.

Isaac's asphyxiated corpse stood perfectly still, waiting for the giant tapeworm to charge at him before crying him to death.

Isaac's asphyxiated corpse repeated this process with a mess of heads which tried to hide underground to avoid its fate.

Isaac's asphyxiated corpse refused a deal with the devil, knowing it wouldn'tbe worth it in the long run.

Isaac's asphyxiated corpse picked up a huge eye, which granted the gift of cyclopia and destrcution and with it, he mowed down every creature in the caves.

Isaac's asphyxiated corpse received an angelic blessing: The sacred heart of the savior. With this, he destroyed the angel and gathered the key.

Isaac's asphyxiated corpse received many powerful gifts, but lacked in endurance. It was by very little that it managed to destroy the Mother and receive the unholy gift of guilt.

Isaac's asphyxiated corpse took the polaroid, and the Angels granted him a rosary bead. Another one taken down, it completed the Key.

Isaac's asphyxiated corpse tore apart the Womb, and killed the thought of it's living self in the womb. Rising to a cathedral it killed its living self.

Isaac's asphyxiated corpse killed even itself.

Isaac's asphyxiated corpse found Death's Touch.

Isaac's asphyxiated corpse opened the unholy door to the Beast.

Isaac's asphyxiated corpse Killed the Beast.

Isaac's asphyxiated corpse killed the

Isaac's corpse killed

Isaac's corpse

Isaac's corpse

Isaac's corpse

Isaac's corpse

Isaac

He took the pencil away from the drawing, trembling in the deep realization he had found himself submerged in. The tongue was attached to the throat. It was going to bleed. He was going to pass out from the pain. Mother wouldn't help. He'd get filled with blood. He'd breath in the blood until his lungs were filled. He would suffocate.

He was... going to die...today.

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Lynne stood up. There was something wrong. The sheriff had just walked downstairs and there was suddenly crying resonating through the building. Had the old man managed to scare someone? What a mess. With a sigh, she left her own office and went downstairs.

She didn't know what she had been expecting, but it wasn't anything like this. The Sheriff was trying to get some 17 year old to give up a bag while Clementine chuckled to herself. Oh, that snake... whenever she laughed, something was sure to happen to someone.

"May I ask what's happening?" She said, firmly. The old man turned to her, looking simply frustrated and tired.

"Miss Dermondt! I'm glad you are here. Miss Parker is afraid this young man is carrying a gun and he refuses to hand over the bag... perhaps your motherly demeanor can help this situation?"

She rolled her eyes, but approached anyway, getting to her knees while the Sheriff stepped away.

"Hello. I'm Officer Lynne Dermondt. May I ask what's your name?"

The teen really looked horrible... he was certainly very stressed out.

"O-officer... I s-swear I am not carrying a gu-gun, I-"

"We can solve this later. What is your name? What brought you here?"

He gulped.

"I'm... I'm Julius Laplace. I'm here to d-denounce a stance of... c-child abuse by Lorraine Ri- Peterson. I have proof, I s-swear!"

She widened her eyes and her stomach sank. She could hear Clementine trying to contain laughter and the sheriff huffing. They had never taken seriously the ghost stories some people told around and for them, Miss Peterson was someone who had to be talked to with reverence, so of course they hadn't taken this boy seriously.

"Where is this... evidence?"

"I-in the bag! I h-have a recording... there was a child s-screaming, I got the audio, I swear!"

"Is that why you do not want to hand over the backpack?"

He nodded.

"What about this, mister Laplace. If you allow me to have this bag, then I'll listen to your recording along my boss and we will decide wheter it's geniune or not. Does that sound fine? We can do interrogatories later if you are this shaken."

She extended her hand to get the bag. The other hesitated... but handed it over. Lynne smile and stood up, turning to the Sheriff. "Well then, I'll first check for a gun."

She opened the bag and started to remove the contents. A laptop, a charger, some mints, a pencil. The only other pocket with something contained some ducktape and a chocolate wrapper. The Sheriff glared at Clementine, who shrugged and muttered "I really thought he'd have a gun, you know...".

Lynne sighed and started to walk to the stairs, followed by her boss. "Come on, Mister Laplace. We can watch it in my office."

Julius stood up and walked with them. He was trembling, trying to control his emotions. Whatever was going on in his head was taking a lot from him... Lynne was kind of worried. In the office, she set up the laptop and sat down in one of the chairs, letting the owner get the file and play it.

At first, the only thing caught was the sound of rain and some breathing from whoever was carrying the audio recording device. From the sound of it, they were under some umbrella. She was about to give up on this claim when... the screaming. The teen covered his face, and the room was filled with a distorted version of the noise. It was loud, horrifying and human.

Lynne turned to the sheriff and noticed he was pale.

The tape was filled with half an hour of this terrible noise. It wavered, it became gurgled, it weakened and restarted worse than before. At some points, it'd become muffled, but it was still so... so... so real. So terrifying. Lynne only resumed breathing normally when the tape ended.

"...Mister Laplace..." the sheriff started. "T-that... that is... that is the exact same voice as Miss Peterson's son. I d-don't know how you managed to catch this or when but... " He took a deep breath. "Please, stay here. We'll have to interrogate you. And by we, I mean me and the team that is currently home."

He looked deep into Lynne's eyes. "Please, get the car, call an ambulance and get to that house as soon as you can."

The man had barely finished his sentence when the woman jolted out of her seat and rushed down the stairs.

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Isaac prayed. To God, to Satan, to anyone listening. To any little bit of divine mercy. He didn't want to die like that, he didn't want to be gone without absolving his sins, without being forgiven for everything.

It was the end. It was the end.

He'd started crying earlier, but now for the first time, he found his tears dry. It was like his very soul had been replaced by a growing black hole which weighted down on him. That pressure. That fear. But he had no strenght to let it be shown anymore. Even the pain in his mouth and face had stopped mattering.

Her steps. To the kitchen. Getting a knife. She was praying, screaming to the glory of the Lord. Approaching. Isaac scrambled around his room, finding nowhere to run. There was no trapdoor, there was no divine salvation, there was no happy end. There'd only he Hell and pain forever now and there was nothing he could do. He tugged at the window bars, he screamed his lungs out, he tried to get out, but it was useless. The door had been locked.

He was trembling when he climbed into the chest to wait. His breath sounded horribly loud, and even if he knew by now that it was impossible to kill himself in there, it was still the worst sensation to lie in the cold wood, with only Guppy's bones to keep him company.

She would find him.

The door was opened. The prayer was so loud, her steps were ressounding. He closed his eyes. She was calling him, and he didn't reply. Sin. She looked behind the door. She looked under the bed.

She looked into the Chest.

He was risen into the air by his arm. Her stare was burning with holy fire... or so he imagined. He didn't ever open his eyes. A loud noise, something playing outside. She forced his mouth open with the knife. Louder. The blade was creeping into his mouth, making his gag.

A bursting noise. Something falling down. A screaming voice. A loud explosion.

The blade sank into his mouth and he relaxed completely. Death was here. It was the end. Ah... he was going to hell either way. Fuck it. He would have laughed, sincerely, and he could feel the knife now trying to cut off his tongue as if it was a cow's.

A bang.

He dropped to the floor.

His mouth was overflowing with blood, but his tongue was very much still attached. He opened his eyes and saw his mother screaming and writhing in the floor, holding her leg in pain. Behind her, by the door, a tall woman stood, gun now lowered.

"Lorraine Peterson! You are arrested!"

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sta . sh /01j39ar6qvpy


	5. Eden's Blessing

Isaac wasn't entirely sure of what had just happened. He felt as thought in a daze and barely registered the woman trying to wrestle his mother, much less the moment the gargantuan woman threw the officer across the room or the noise her head made when it hit against the corner of Isaac's bed.

But he saw the gun pointed at him.

And then, there was no Cain, no Eve, no ?, no Azazel, no Apollyon. It was just Isaac. Entirely and utterly Isaac, with the flaws and the sins he'd always carried. With all the unthinkable thoughts merging into a scream resonating in his head.

SURVIVE.

They charged and she shot. One, two times. It hit their stomach and hip, but Isaac did not stop. He grabbed his mother's hands and twisted with all the strenght he could. Something snapped and she screamed and before he knew it he had the gun.

Just as Lynne recovered her senses and looked at him, he shot. They simply kept clicking the weapon even after the barrel was empty. A bullet to the head, one to the side of the neck, one missed. Even after their mother fell limp, the child clicked and clicked, even if the gun locked up.

Lynne stood up. She had been stabbed in the arm twice in this fight and it was bleeding badly. She walked over to Isaac and pulled the gun away from him, throwing it away before hugging him as firmly as she could.

Her mind was racing with thoughts. The kid had just killed his own mother, but he'd also saved himself and possibly her too. Who knew what that woman could have done to her! But now the child had been shot. He was bleeding terribly and was quite obviously in shock.

He tried to mutter something, but passed out before managing to make any word from his noise.

Lynne immediately let go of him and carefully laid him down on te ground. Ah, she shouldn't have hugged him... it was simply not something you are supposed to do to the heavily wounded. No time to think it through, thought. She had to keep him from losing more blood. A pillow was fetched to keep his head at an angle so he wouldn't drown in his own blood. She did her best to apply first aid, but only when the ambulance she'd called arrived and she hopped into it to accompany the kid to the local hospital could she calm down a bit.

Just a little bit.

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"So you aren't from here, is that right mister Laplace?"

The man asking questions was a tired looking officer who'd seriously rather be home watching TV at this time.. still, something about his tone made Julius know he could trust him not to twist his words.

"Y-yes, sir. I came over with a friend from Maine to look for ghosts."

"Humm... where is this friend of yours?"

"He left his morning, sir. Had to answer to his parents calling." He gulped. "We... split up yesterday to look for ghosts. He was going to check out some haunted hill south of here and I was going to check the wailing in the house..."

"In the rain?"

Julius shrank. "I-in the rain you can set things outside houses without being bothered for noise, sir. I didn't want to have to ask the house owner's permission because I thought the demon would hide if I made myself known."

The officer chuckled.

"I see you are a man of faith."

"Y-yeah... well, my friend's most. I just tag along most of the time, around vacations. "

"So, you decided to stay because you hadn't told him about the tape yet? And did not want him to get in trouble with his family for not returning?"

Julius nodded furiously.

The officer clicked his tongue.

Someone knocked on the door. The interviewer answered it and after a brief talk to the sheriff, he came back with a paper.

"We did a background search on you, mister Laplace. It seems you were involved as a witness in your... grandfather's accidental death?"

Julius went silent. It was like the old man's hand was on his shoulder, gripping it like a hawk. That was the time wasn't it? Once he was done, he'd never need to worry again... and Dean would be free of charge, too. They'd have peace.

His mouth moved, but he couldn't listen to himself over the screaming of the only real ghost he was now exorcising.

"It wasn't accidental. I killed him."

-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00

Blank. It was blank, not white or black. Just the very essence of lack made into a "somewhere" that was still just nowhere.

Isaac stared at the inside of the chest, shivering.

It had never been empty before. He could always fill it with his imagination and have something waiting at the bottom, no matter what. Before, that had been the rule. Another run, another chest, another challenge... but now...

The abyss didn't even exist.

He tore his sight away. This was too much. Too much...

A path. A path made out of colorful puzzle pieces stretched ahead forever, rearranging itself back and forth as it floated in an infinite darkness. Strange creatures sometimes flied or floated by, curious and harmless, light as clouds.

Isaac realized he was carrying something.

Eden's blessing. Your future shines brighter...

But that had always just him blessing himself right? Just a fluke, just a joke. It wouldn't actually change anything. It wouldn't ever... ever...

And he walked. Some kind of choir was vocalizing, backed by deep rumbling drums. It felt like gates to both Hell and Heaven. The path he was walking was tortuous and strange and he felt lost, clutching the flower so as to let its warmth calm him down.

"Isaac."

Satan. God. Mother. Mother.

"Isaac!"

And he started to run, realizing the path was falling behind him, tearing apart. To follow her voice was to die, but what would running ever accomplish? Where would be stop? The song grew, to the point it was painful on his ears.

He felt like stopping.

But the flower was somehow driving him to keep going. He did not want to let the darkness consume it, to give up what it represented. It hurt, his legs felt sluggish, everything was burning, but he did not stop. Even when the ground became mud, even when the abyss roared behind him.

And then he felt it. The collar on his neck. And when he looked up, the never ending leash was tied to the hands of a Devil and a God, merged into one huge... holy unholy, good evil, blessed damned... puppet. A tool. A huge tool. And she called.

"Isaac! ISAAC!"

The road ended there, but even if there was more, he would have been stopped by the collar. There was nowhere to go. There was nothing, nothing... nothing but...

In that moment, they realized that it was not the end. A hand held the flower and the other yanked off the collar. It disappeared in the air, and they felt they could breath. And they knew where to go.

Their hand stabbed into the tissue of the dream and ripped it open, into something they could not describe. Something that was not quite anything else.

And just as the ground collapsed under them and made them sink into the bottom of the abyss, they shoved the flower into the everything. The collar asphyxiated Isaac as he escaped into the empty chest so as not to face the end. A sea of guilt destroyed his very body and consciousness.

-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00

Lynne had never been put into a more stressful situation before. With the child safely admitted into the hospital, the doctors had taken care of her own wounds. Nothing serious, and within an hour the stab wounds had been sterilized, stitched and bandaged. The child, on the other hand... the shot to the stomach was life threatening and required immediate surgery.

The woman would have stayed, if not by a call made by her boss about how the teen that had shown up earlier was a killer and how they needed her to give a situation update.

The following days would always be blurred in her mind, so much she did and worried. Suddenly, there was the death of Lorraine Peterson, the rescuing of her son and a conjoined investigation about Julius Laplace to get the true story of his grandfather's killing. To make it all even worse, the investigation eventually showed that Lorraine had been part of a radical christian cult with several followers in the city and now they all wanted Lynne's head in a plate for undoing God's will and bringing on his eternal rage.

Through all of this, sheriff Mathias Anderson helped her. He was terribly shaken by the discoveries that were being made and helped Lynne to the best of his capabilities. Hell, even her parents tried to come over! She had to convince them that it was far too dangerous and that she'd come over as soon as it was all over with.

The day that some woman invaded the hospital to try and "finish Lorraine's holiest duty" and had to be arrested was the first time Lynne cried from stress.

Isaac was eventually stabilized, but some scars were there to stay, such as the burn all over his face and mouth. Reconstructive surgery simply wouldn't be able to make it look better enough to justify the risks of putting a child this young through more operation.

Visiting him was heart-wrecking to Lynne, but she made herself do it anyway. He was fragile and scaredy, didn't want to be touched and currently, couldn't speak due to the operation to get his tongue fixed. He barely interacted, and most of the time was either sleeping or crying. The few times she had gotten him to talk to her through a notebook, though...

"i am sorry."

"you saved my life. I don't understand."

"i should have died."

"i killed her."

"god hates me."

"thank you."

"thank you i was scared. I was so scared."

"i dont want to go to hell"

"i dont want to be alone. I am sorry."

She kept all those sheets of paper, even if reading them made her stomach turn. The more this investigation progressed, the more the horrors the kid had gone through were exposed, the more the truth about the entire town came up, the more she felt like she was going to throw up.

The verdict was given: Lynne had acted rightfully, first shooting at the ceiling and giving warnings before shooting Lorraine's leg to save Isaac. The child, who had given the final shots, had acted out of fear and in self defense. He was to be adopted and taken to another city to avoid retaliation by the ones who had been hiding Lorraine's horrifying abuse.

In another city, the accidental death of 68 year old Homer Laplace was not being reanalyzed after the confession of his currently 17 year old grandchild, Julius Laplace. Perhaps it was the influence of Isaac's case, perhaps it was the man's fundamental role in bringing out one of biggest religious scandals of the decade, or even the fact Lynne Dermondt herself came from her town to defend Julius' actions.

Fact is that the result was kind. The death was judged as having been pure self defense, with Dean Marrack being considered innocent of having had any participation in it. The hiding and lying about the situation was considered as having been driven by fear and excusable, as he had been 15 at the time it happened. With everything considered, he was condemned to three months of community services for justice obstruction.

Lynne decided to keep herself in contact with the teenagers. They happened to live in the same town as her parents and sister, and after all this, she was more than probably moving there and looking for any other job... She wondered if Laila would be fine with housing her after so much time without contacting her... if not, then she could probably rent a place. Or go back to living with her parents, even if she wanted to avoid that. She knew they'd want to pamper and take care of her, but she couldn't take of thought of them overworking themselves to maker her comfortable.

Even with all of this in mind, the thing that worried her the most was still the question of Isaac's future. His stay at the hospital was being banked by a collective effort of her, the sheriff and other officers that wanted to help, but he'd have to go somewhere. He'd need to be adopted, but nobody would want a mentally scarred seven year old looking as hurt as Isaac. Children over five were lower in the priority list of most parents. Traumatized ones were both unwanted and difficult to prove enough responsibility to be eligible to adopt. And then, the most unfair... ugly children were simply less likely to find new parents, the end.

It was killing her, to think about it. To know he'd just end up in some cold governamental building without receiving proper care until he was 18 and then released to the world without ever being loved by parents like he deserved to be... it made her so angry at the world that she had to talk about it to her mother during a call.

Her response was so sweet and simple she couldn't believe she hadn't thought of it before.

"Ah, dearie... why don't you try to adopt him yourself? I am sure you would be a delightful mother for such a poor child."

-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00-00

When Dean had first read the letter Julius had left him, he'd almost had a heart attack. He'd found himself angry, sad, lonely, horrified. And he'd also found himself afraid of losing Julius.

That guy meant the world for the blonde. His strength inspired him every day to fight, and he had no words that'd ever work to thank him enough for sticking by his side when anyone else would have said his dreams were a madman's ones. Somehow, he simply couldn't imagine himself living in a world in which his partner in crime didn't exist.

And yet, he couldn't make himself not follow Jules' plan. Even if his heart hurt when he spoke the planned words, even if his stomach clenched when he saw Julius taking all the blame for himself, even if he felt like crying the entire time.

When the sentence was announced, he'd felt like screaming in joy.

He only didn't because the other did it for him.

Nothing but spending time to help others! Nothing but cleaning the streets! I mean, it still sucked, because he'd be busy the entirety of the vacations and a couple weeks into the next semester, but... but he wouldn't be taken away. They could meet up. They could stay together. Hell, he'd help Julius with the work if it meant more time to talk!

The very first thing Dean made when he met Julius outside the court was to slap him across the face and scold him for always being too selfless about everything.

The next thing was to kiss Jules. And somehow, to be kissed back.

He knew that the other was finally free of something that had clogged his soul since forever, and he was overjoyed for that. And Julius knew very well that Dean had probably always died to get to kiss him as dramatically as possible... not that he'd complain. It was nice. So, so very nice to free and find out that someone had been waiting out there for you with all of this world's love.

"Do you think we worried too much about what would happen?" Julius asked as soon as Dean let go. The other chuckled.

"Probably. Definetively."

"You know what? I'm just tired. Please take me to milk shakes before I pass out, bro."

Dean smirked.

"Sure thing, dude."

-0-0-0

sta . sh /01ib9zyw98fs


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